


A Mortal and His God

by Mr Son (MrSon)



Category: The Yogscast
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-23
Updated: 2014-01-23
Packaged: 2018-01-09 17:04:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1148601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrSon/pseuds/Mr%20Son
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Xephos never had all of Ridgedog's attention, and he was never sure whether he wanted it.</p><p>(Note to the Yogscast: Do not read any of my fics on stream.)<br/>(I do not support the Yogscast company. I write because I enjoy the characters.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mortal and His God

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by (and titled after) [this fanmix on Tumblr](http://curlz101.tumblr.com/post/73846664353/a-mortal-and-his-god-never-made-a-fanmix-before).

=== === ===

Xephos never had all of Ridgedog's attention, and he was never sure whether he wanted it.

He felt caught between the soft moments, when gentle hands roamed over his skin and firm lips met his own, and the times when he was back to back with his friends, Ridgedog flying above them in the night as they fought, and fell, and died together.

They were never left dead, of course. They couldn't leave Ridgedog alone, after all. No, of course that wasn't an option.

Sometimes he remembered his home planet, somewhere out there in the swirling stars, and he wondered if the ones he'd left behind remembered him in turn. He didn't regret leaving, or finding this place. And he could never regret the friendships he'd made here.

He might regret the crash landing. At least a little. Sometimes he felt he should regret catching Ridgedog's eye, but he'd never had any control over that. Over this.

And he couldn't regret quiet whispers in the dark. Clothes sliding to the floor. Bodies moving together, never quite perfectly in unison. When he felt lonely, it seemed like he couldn't regret anything except the loneliness itself.

He kept himself busy. It wasn't hard. There was always some new sight to see, some new project to build. And if he ran out of ideas, his friends were always quick with suggestions.

And if there was a lull in the excitement, Ridgedog would swoop in and start a tournament. They'd been run through a dizzying variety of killing games, barely adjusting to the rules before a new set was presented to them.

Being resurrected after they died meant no lasting consequences. So they could die, over and over. And over. And over again. Until they were swinging their weapons at each other over their own fallen bodies. Meeting each other's eyes over crossed swords, knowing that whichever of them fell, they'd meet again when they were released from the arena. It made it easier for him to put arrows through their heads. As easy at that could ever be.

He threw out his bloodstained clothes instead of trying to wash them. Ridgedog kept replacing them. By hand. Ridgedog preferred to dress him, so that was what happened. And he couldn't complain. Not when strong hands were on his shoulders, smoothing out the edges of his collar and brushing against his throat. Not when Ridgedog's eyes were focused on his own, pinning him in place.

And he couldn't complain when it was time for the clothes to come back off. When his back was pressed to the wall, or his bed. When he had nothing to offer in surrender but himself. His body and his heart.

And he would surrender. To those kisses. To those touches. To those moments of being with each other. Separated by skin and air. By the silence between words murmured in the night. By the door closing as Ridgedog left once more.

Sometimes he wrote letters to his family back home. He wrote of his friends and their accomplishments. He wrote down their favorite jokes, and he'd include pictures of what they'd built. He tried to write about Ridgedog. He always fumbled on trying to explain what he was to Ridgedog. What was between them. The heavy gravity that kept him trapped.

He burned each letter the next day. He didn't have any method to send them by, anyhow.

=== === ===


End file.
